Where tradition walks into the streets – and transforms a village into a carpet of flowers
“It’s going to rain,” the sky seems to promise over Łowicz (pronounced *Vo-vich*) on the morning of Corpus Christi. Yet the town appears to have other plans. As I step into the hotel lobby, two women dressed in traditional folk costume greet me with radiant smiles. A few minutes later, I pass another on the street. While I carefully avoid the growing puddles, she pays them no attention at all. I begin to understand that Łowicz’s secret lies not only in its brilliantly coloured skirts and richly embroidered floral patterns, but also in the quiet determination with which this nearly 900-year-old town has weathered every storm of history.
Perhaps it is no coincidence that one of Łowicz’s best-known folk motifs is the brightly coloured rooster. In Polish tradition, it symbolizes new beginnings and vitality. The people of Łowicz depict it enthusiastically – especially in their famous multicoloured paper cuttings – much as the people of Kalocsa celebrate paprika in their folk art, or the Matyó region is known for its roses.
As I approach the remarkably well-preserved medieval triangular New Market Square – an architectural rarity even by European standards – I, too, begin to share the town’s quiet confidence. The sky may be grey and the streets muddy, but today, colour will triumph.
The town that even National Geographic discovered
Just as today’s festivities refuse to surrender to the weather, Łowicz itself has endured centuries of hardship. It survived the devastation of the Swedish Deluge between 1655 and 1660 – a catastrophe for Poland comparable to the Mongol invasion or the Ottoman occupation in Hungarian history – as well as the partitions of Poland, Russian rule, two world wars, and the communist era.
For centuries the town belonged to the Archbishops of Gniezno. At the end of the sixteenth century, whenever the Polish throne stood vacant, the archbishop, serving as Primate of Poland, temporarily became the head of state. During these interregna, Łowicz earned the title of “Poland’s second capital.” The feast of Corpus Christi – known in Polish as "Boże Ciało" – was first celebrated in 1247 in Liège, in present-day Belgium, before spreading throughout the Catholic Church by the end of the thirteenth century.
In Poland, Corpus Christi is a public holiday celebrated in late spring or early summer. In Łowicz, however, the festival has developed into something truly unique. The town’s centuries-old procession attracted the attention of National Geographic as early as the 1930s – at a time when Poland rarely appeared in international travel publications.
In 2014, this remarkable tradition was also added to Poland’s National List of Intangible Cultural Heritage.
The Weight of Tradition
Many consider the folk costume of Łowicz to be the most beautiful traditional dress in all of Poland. Now that I can admire it up close, I understand why. For centuries, the local ethnographic group known as the "Księżaki" has preserved a strong sense of communal identity, and their traditional attire remains one of its most powerful symbols. The women's skirts shimmer with vivid stripes of green, purple, pink, blue and orange, as though every colour on an artist's palette had come to life at once.
Their black velvet bodices are adorned with intricate floral embroidery, colourful roses bloom across the sleeves of crisp white blouses, and strands of bright red beads gleam around their necks. Young women wear elaborate floral wreaths, while older women cover their hair with patterned scarves. It is a costume that demands both strength and endurance. A complete outfit can weigh as much as 15 to 20 kilograms, while the flower wreath alone may add another two.
As church bells begin to ring, children clutch handfuls of flower petals, ready to scatter them before the priest. The celebration starts with Mass in the cathedral, which was elevated to the rank of minor basilica by Pope John Paul II during his visit in 1999. When the service ends, the procession sets out through the streets of the town.
Along the route, it pauses at four outdoor altars symbolising both the four cardinal directions and the four Gospels. At each one, prayers are offered and brief liturgical ceremonies take place. Church banners rise above the crowd – gold and burgundy silk, Marian images and fluttering ribbons swaying gently in the breeze. Most of the standard-bearers are men dressed in traditional costume: black waistcoats, embroidered hats, and distinctive trousers striped in orange and green.
Every generation is represented in the procession. There is something deeply moving about seeing the youngest children walking in exactly the same traditional dress as their parents and grandparents.
Watching them, I have the feeling that the figures of an old painting have stepped out of their frame and begun to walk before my eyes. In Łowicz, tradition is not confined to museum display cases. Here, it walks out into the streets. But my own journey continues. I set off for the village of Spycimierz (pronounced "Shpit-si-myesh"), where, by the time I arrive, the streets are being transformed into vast carpets of living flowers.
An entire village working together to create a miracle
"By tomorrow, none of this will remain," a local woman tells me that afternoon in Spycimierz, a village of barely four hundred inhabitants, as she carefully arranges rose blossoms along the roadside. Throughout the narrow village streets, intricate floral compositions unfold beneath our feet: chalices, crosses, hearts, doves, depictions of Christ and biblical motifs take shape from rose petals, daisies, cornflowers, elder blossoms and evergreen branches.
Every year on Corpus Christi, visitors travel here from around the world to witness the spectacle. In 2021, Spycimierz's flower-carpet procession was inscribed on UNESCO's Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. According to local tradition, the custom dates back to the early nineteenth century, when a soldier returning from Napoleon's campaigns introduced the practice of decorating the route of the Blessed Sacrament with flowers.
The custom began with little more than scattering flower petals. Over the decades, however, the designs grew increasingly elaborate until, eventually, entire streets were transformed into works of floral art.
Today, nearly every family in the village takes part. Flowers are gathered, cultivated or purchased weeks in advance. The patterns are carefully designed beforehand, then brought to life together during the night before the feast and in the early hours of the morning.
The continuous floral carpet stretches for almost a kilometre, requiring hundreds of thousands of blossoms and petals to complete.
It is moving to watch people linger for minutes before a face of Christ composed entirely of white daisies, taking photographs before continuing on to the next masterpiece. No two sections are alike. Each stretch of the street reflects the imagination and craftsmanship of a different neighbourhood.
Where do the flowers go?
When the church bells ring, the village falls silent. Then the procession begins, making its way along the path of flowers. Children dressed in their Sunday best scatter petals from wicker baskets before the Blessed Sacrament. At first, what follows feels almost heartbreaking. The fate of these floral carpets has been sealed from the very moment they were created: they exist so that the procession may walk across them. Why devote so much care to creating such extraordinary beauty if, only hours later, those who made it will trample it beneath their own feet?
The villagers offer a simple answer: in Spycimierz, what matters is not that something should last forever. What matters is that, year after year, it is created together once again. The flowers will wither. The carpets will disappear. But the tradition – and the spirit of the community that sustains it – comes back to life every single year.
At one point along the procession route, a flower-covered ceremonial arch spans the street. In the background, a stork stands watch from its nest atop a utility pole, calm and dignified, as if it, too, were taking part in the celebration.
Below, hundreds of people walk across floral masterpieces destined to last only a few hours. Above them, the stork sits in the same nest to which it faithfully returns every spring.
Two different stories, telling the same truth: the enduring power of tradition.
That tradition also lives on in a small custom observed after the celebration. Participants take home a birch branch from the decorations, believing that branches taken from the Corpus Christi altars will protect their homes from lightning, fire and pests, and that a gentle touch with them brings health and peace of mind. I tuck one away for myself without hesitation. Then I look up to the sky to give thanks for the day. The rain clouds that had threatened us in the morning have vanished without a trace.
The English translation was produced with large language model and reviewed by a human editor.
